As I have advanced deeper and deeper into what can be considered “adulthood” I’ve become increasingly cranky about March. In each of the last few years I’ve just wanted March to go away; it’s an annoyingly unproductive month, where winter isn’t fun anymore but spring is still impossibly far away. And now that the time changes three weeks earlier than it did when I was a young, carefree lass? Forget about it. Now we’ve got three miserable weeks of the sun setting late enough that March is just mocking us with how not springy it is.
But this year was different. This year, after a rare (for us) winter that was entirely blanketed with snow, I didn’t mind March. Sure, it was hardly a barnburner for us photography-wise, and sure, it was cruelly warm and crocusy and then BOOM! cold and snowy again, but before I knew it we’d hit March 31 and I hadn’t complained once about it. So what should happen to me immediately after flipping over the calendar to the lovely month of April? Why, of course I’m suddenly losing my mind. Why isn’t it spring yet? Where are the leaves? Why isn’t it warm? And most importantly, why isn’t the garden in full swing?
That’s right — I’ve got a bad case of Garden Fever.
Fortunately, we planted lettuce at Imbolc, so we’ve got at least some crops not too far on the horizon. Look! Lettuce!
It’s not nearly ready to eat, but it’s leafy! And green!
We still seem to be insufferably far away from having regular photo opportunities of veggie leaves wearing jewels of water droplets, though.
I mean, look at how small our peppers are:
And those are the biggest of the pepper seedlings. It’s a sad scene. April, I never expected this from you — I thought you were better than March. Shape up, April, because I want — nay, need to be in full garden swing. It’s not enough to know that someday those baby peppers will be all grown up.
[Posted by Schnookie.]